


No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross

by reconquer



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Coming Out, Defining the Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Epilogue, Underage Drinking, just generally Readjusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reconquer/pseuds/reconquer
Summary: Adam doesn’t wake up as much as he comes to the realization that he’s no longer asleep.





	No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross

**Author's Note:**

> i have been working on this fic for WAY too long. it's been to so many states (including, but not limited to, the state of virginia MULTIPLE times). HUGE thank you to arthur, who read this fic so many times over so many months. also a big thanks to izzy, alfie, and julia, who helped push me to actually finish this thing. this fic is my lil baby and it brought me a lot of comfort while i was on the road for so long. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. 
> 
> tw for drinking, weed, and, like, the most awkward sex i could possibly think up
> 
> title is a sufjan song. shocking, i know.

Adam doesn’t wake up as much as he comes to the realization that he’s no longer asleep.

His palms and elbows are sweaty, and there’s a heavy weight around his chest. His face is smushed into a pillow and there’s something freezing touching his calf. His head pounds.

“Do y’all, um. Breakfast?”

Adam forces his eyelids open and sees a garishly feminine bedroom and, at the doorway, Blue, hair in disarray and wearing a bizarrely normal outfit of soft, cotton shorts and a Mountain View High shirt.

With a jolt, Adam realizes the weight and heat surrounding his body is Ronan. He’s got an arm wrapped around Adam’s chest, a hand tangled through a hand, and a leg shoved between legs. Adam can feel breath on the back on his neck.

Ronan and Adam are pressed against each other in Orla’s bed, black unmaking still smudged on their faces. Gansey’s in the other room, alive. Blue’s staring.

“Sure,” Adam says. His voice is rough and his throat hurts like the beginning of a cold. He shifts and feels Ronan’s body tense, eyelashes brush against the skin near his hairline, and all of a sudden he’s being shoved. Ronan rolls over and away with a grunt. Adam pushes himself up to sit against the headboard. Blue keeps staring. 

“There’s coffee and stuff,” Blue says finally, spinning on her heel and shutting the door behind her. 

The back of Ronan’s neck is bright red. So are his ears.

“Ronan,” Adam starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. He feels short of breath. There’s a line of black running from the inside of Ronan’s ear all the way down to his jawline. Adam rubs it away with his thumb. He leaves his hand resting on the side of Ronan’s neck. 

Ronan relaxes inch by inch until he lets out an agonizing breath and pushes himself to sit up next to Adam. He doesn’t look Adam in the eye when he presses their palms together and squeezes before climbing over Adam and leaving the room.

 

Adam takes a gloriously long shower.

Blue had said breakfast, but in reality, it was something more like a late lunch. The house is empty—its residents had already gone to pick their kids up from school, or run errands, or maybe the women of Fox Way had been put off by the presence of so many boys and fled. Whatever it was, the bathroom was free.

The shower caddies are packed to the brim, body lotions and hair products sitting askew in various metal baskets. Adam opts for the lone bar soap, vaguely hoping its owner won’t mind that he borrows it. He lets the hot water rinse off dirt and grime and unmaking and sweat. He uses some scrubby face wash, too.

He starts when someone pounds on the door, barely manages to croak out, “Wh—” before cool outside air rushes around the shower curtain. The door slams closed.

“You’re taking too long,” Ronan says. “And I need a shave.”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“You didn’t hear me the first _three_ times I knocked.” Adam can hear Ronan rustling through the insides of the medicine cabinet. 

His moment of peace broken, Adam sighs, turns off the shower, and says, “Hand me that towel, would you?”

Ronan’s holding a pink razor that is clearly meant for legs when Adam steps out, hair tousled dry and towel wrapped around his waist. He’s eying it dubiously, but he’s also toying with the lid of a can of shaving cream.

“Good fucking luck,” Adam says as he joins Ronan next to the sink. Ronan rubs his stubble self-consciously. “Who’re you trying to impress? Calla?”

Ronan just rolls his eyes and grunts, throwing the razor into the sink and striding out of the bathroom. Steam billows out behind him.

 

Adam would have rather stayed at Fox Way, being fussed over by Maura and using up their hot water supply, but he’d lost two days. Two days of classes where attendance counts, two days of rent and food and laundry money. 

So he ends up chugging a coffee and shrugging his dirty hoodie on with one foot out the door. He’s regretting the long shower and wiping cream cheese on his jeans when car keys bounce off his shoulder and fall onto the dirt. Adam whirls around, nostrils flaring.

“Dropped this,” Ronan says coolly, gesturing towards the keys.

“I can drive myself, Lynch,” Adam sighs, hands patting his pockets for—oh.

“Forget something?” Ronan directs this at Adam’s knitted eyebrows. He picks up the keys and unlocks the BMW in one swift motion. “I’ll pick you up, too, if you want.”

A rush of affection overwhelms Adam for a second too long. He flings himself down in the passenger seat and mutters, “Yeah, thanks.”

They drive to Boyd’s in silence. Despite sleeping in, Adam feels like his limbs are made of lead. Ronan looks about the same. He doesn’t know how much Ronan really slept, actually.

“What are you gonna do?” Adam asks. The softness of his own voice startles him.

“In general?” Ronan sneers for a second, but his shoulders slump and it slides off his face just as quickly. “I already called Declan. Him and Matthew are on their way down to Henrietta now.”

“I’m sorry, Ronan.”

Ronan clenches his jaw, blinks hard, and pulls over. Adam watches Ronan sink in his seat and put his face in his hand, shoulders tense with the effort of not making noise, but his increasingly ragged breathing betrays him.

“Ronan." 

Ronan’s shoulders are up to his ears and he still has one hand white-knuckled on the gear shift. Adam covers it with his. He gently pulls Ronan’s fingers off the gearshift and tangles them with his own. Ronan’s shoulders drop a fraction.

“Dad was cremated,” Ronan chokes out. “And Mom’s all fucked up-looking. So I guess she will be too.”

“No closed-casket?”

Ronan laughs humorlessly. “Who would even come to that? Her home nurses?”

“We would come, Ronan,” Adam says.

Ronan leans back and lets his skull rest against the headrest, looking at Adam through watery eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and wipes his nose with the back of his hand instead.

“I’m making you late for work,” Ronan says finally.

“I’m just adding on to the last two days of tardiness,” Adam replies. “Boyd probably thinks I’m dead by now.”

“Don’t say that,” Ronan whispers, shutting his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Adam whispers back. Ronan’s got a death grip on his left hand, so he reaches over to touch Ronan’s face with his right. His eyelids flutter back open. “Can I kiss you?” 

Ronan nods, but still makes Adam come to him.

Ronan’s mouth is messy and open. They haven’t kissed in—they haven’t kissed since that night at the Barns. Adam leaves his fingers on Ronan’s rough cheek, knowing if he let his fingers trail too low he’d touch the purple ring of fingerprint-shaped bruises on his neck.

“ _Adam,_ ” Ronan breathes when they part. He doesn’t say anything else, just runs his fingers through the hair on the side of Adam’s head, sits up, and drives them the rest of the way.

 

Cabeswater was a clanking old heater in Adam’s brain. It had become background noise, barely noticable and kind of comforting. Now that it’s gone, Adam’s filled with a resounding silence, almost as jarring as Cabeswater’s presence had been at first.

With the murmur and rustle of Cabeswater gone, Adam is full of nothingness both blissful and white-hot.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know what use he is. His dead ear is just—dead.

It doesn’t help that he’s the only one who goes to class for the rest of the week. 

Ronan, Adam had expected. His attendance was sporadic at best before this, and the school gives excused absences for trauma such as the death of a parent or magical forest entity.

But Adam hasn’t seen Gansey in days. 

Adam feels like it’s conspicuous that he’s the only one of the three in class, though he’s not sure anyone else really notices. It’s hard enough to pay attention with the echoing quiet ricocheting around the inside of his skull, and it’s only made worse by the crushing solitary.

Ronan’s waiting for him in the parking lot on the third day, arms crossed in defiance of nothing and leaning against the BMW.

“I have two hours.” Adam tosses his messenger bag in the backseat.

“I know,” Ronan says. “Wanna get gelato?”

“Can’t. I have homework to do before my shift. Come to St. Agnes?”

Ronan nods and follows Adam into the car, twisting the volume knob up.

This is familiar. Adam wonders how many things are really going to change between them, because so far it’s only been the kissing. Ronan’s been looking at him for ages now, and the only thing that’s different is that now, Adam looks back.

 

Ronan sprawls on Adam’s mattress and looks at him while he does his lit annotations. The gaze makes Adam feel prickly and hot in his cheeks and his knees. 

“The funeral’s on Sunday,” Ronan says after a while. “Can you come?”

“Of course,” Adam says. He puts his pencil down and looks back.

“You don’t have work?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

Ronan’s so tense that the veins on the side of his neck are protruding. Adam looks for a moment longer before getting up and lying next to him, Ronan on his back and Adam on his side.

“Where’s Gansey been?” Adam curls around Ronan, overlapping their legs and brushing his collarbone with his fingers.

“Dunno. I’ve been out all week.”

Adam purses his lips. He’d figured Ronan to be the clingy type when it came to Gansey, but maybe he’s having a moment of good grace and leaving him with Blue.

Adam runs a finger along the ribbon of bruises along Ronan’s throat. They’re an ugly yellow now. Every time Adam sees them his stomach turns, but when he’d tried to apologize Ronan had slammed the car door in his face.

Ronan is still rigid next to him, and he keeps swallowing audibly. 

“You can touch me, you know,” Adam mutters. Ronan brings an arm down and splays his fingers out over his ribcage, over his shirt. Adam touches two fingers to touch Ronan’s jaw and tilts his face so that he can kiss him.

Ronan goes. Adam hears himself inhale sharply through his nose and his body presses even closer to Ronan’s, a foot nudging along the inside of Ronan’s calf. Ronan makes a small noise and opens his mouth.

Adam feels a little out of control. They haven’t gone farther than this. Adam knows he wants to, but he hasn’t thought too deeply about it—those desires are shoved down in some corner of his brain that he’s only just beginning to have access to.

It’s a weird layered thought. He knows, logically, it’s because of the _boy_ thing, but he doesn’t want it to be. He’s never been a bigot. He never hated himself the way Ronan did—not because of this, anyway—but he knows the trailer park is buried deep in his skin.

He doesn’t want to have a crisis so soon after the last one, so he lets it be—this, a small, physical moment with Ronan, whose body screams out that it wants to be touched when his words won’t.

A strong hand on his hip breaks Adam out of his thoughts. Ronan ends the kiss and pushes him back a bit, and with an uncomfortable flush Adam realizes he’d been rocking his hips against Ronan’s leg. His jeans are starting to get too tight and they rub when he flops onto his back.

“Sorry,” Adam breathes. Ronan doesn’t say anything, just rolls over and presses a kiss to Adam’s neck. “Too fast?”

Ronan just grunts.

“You have to go soon,” Ronan says, words muffled by Adam’s skin. “But I. If we had more time.” 

“Yeah.” Adam’s breathless, and hearing Ronan say that he wants this out loud is like a jab to the solar plexus. “Same.”

Ronan snorts. “No, shit.”

Adam’s cheeks heat up. He groans and rolls onto his stomach, burying his face into his flat pillows.

He starts when he feels breath on his ear. Ronan mumbles something that sounds akin to, “Shirley,” but he’s on Adam’s left side now. Adam lifts his head and, slightly bewildered, says, “Did you just apologize?”

“See if I ever do it again if I get that reaction,” Ronan grumbles.

“I couldn’t hear you,” Adam snaps. “It’s not that hard to remember.”

Ronan blanches, a bit. The truth is, he does remember, most of the time. Ronan’s not careful or considerate about most things, but he turns down his music in the car if Adam’s rubbing his temples, and he lets him sit on the inside of the booth in Nino’s with his deaf ear towards the wall, and he usually doesn’t speak until he’s in Adam’s line of sight. Adam hadn’t really needed to tell him to do any of those things.

Self-loathing bubbles low in his stomach and Adam shoves it down with anger, at Ronan and at himself, then shoves it down one final time to get a grip.

 _Don’t fight with Ronan,_ he thinks.

“Parrish.” Ronan’s fingers find Adam’s cheekbone. Adam looks at him from the pillow of his arms. “Do you want an apology or not?”

Adam huffs a laugh. “No. We’re good.”

“Good.” Ronan kisses him, quick. “For the record, I’m only saying this because I don’t want you to do it to me.”

“Should I have? Were you—did you—” The thought him turning Ronan on makes Adam squirm.

“Shut up.” Ronan swings his legs over Adam’s side and plants his butt on his back. The weight of him squeezes the breath out of Adam’s lungs and he bats at Ronan until he stands up. “You have to get to work, shithead.”

Adam smiles into the pillow before following suit.

 

They’re all oscillating around each other, trapped in a never-ending pendulum of emotion. One day Gansey’s dead-eyed and dissociative in the booth at Nino’s while Blue furiously wipes down tables, righteously pissed at them for being raven boys in _her fucking place of work_ ; Adam typing on Ronan’s laptop a mile a minute, September and October wasted on adventure and trauma while his Common App collected digital dust, while Ronan stares at the insides of his eyelids, unmoving except for the unforgiving twist of his fingers between his leather wristbands. 

Adam’s having a day where he feels empty—not like life has been sucked out of him, but like there was never anything inside him to begin with. Gansey’s been talking incessantly all day, hands nearly trembling with manic energy. He’s like this sometimes now, as if his skin can’t contain all that’s inside of him.

He talks the whole car ride back to Monmouth, something about his mother’s campaign. Adam’s not really listening—he doesn’t have the energy to listen, and even if he did, he’s not sure he cares.

Ronan’s avoiding him.

Well, Adam thinks so, anyway. Adam doesn’t have a phone, and even if he did, he’s not sure Ronan would extend that courtesy even to him. The first day Ronan didn’t meet him during his break or after his shift, Adam didn’t think much of it—Ronan’s brothers were still in town. The second day Adam figured it was Orphan Girl, the third some business at the Barns. On the fourth Adam asked Gansey, who’d blissfully returned to school at the start of the new week. He’d shrugged and said, “I thought he was with you.”

That’s what Adam’s thinking about as he follows Gansey up the stairs onto the main floor. Chainsaw caws when Gansey opens the door, which means—

“Oh, Ronan’s home.” Gansey drops his bag on the couch and toes his shoes off. “Do me a favor and ask him what he wants for dinner? I was thinking something exotic. Indian, maybe?" 

Gansey tilts his hand towards Adam in offering. Adam shakes his head. There’s a leftover Kroger sandwich sitting in the mini fridge in Boyd’s office calling his name.

He leaves his own stuff and heads towards Ronan’s closed door. Pounding music oozes out from underneath the crack between the door and the floorboards. It vibrates against the stiles and Adam’s knuckles when he raps at the frame.

“Don’t come in,” Ronan says, barely audible over the music.

“It’s me,” Adam responds. 

“You heard me.” Ronan sounds bored; annoyance makes Adam’s jaw spasm. 

Adam swings the door open. “Gansey just wants to know—” He stops as his foot crunches down on aluminum.

Ronan’s sprawled on his bed in just his boxers nursing a can of beer. He glowers at Adam and says nothing.

“Why are you drinking?” Adam says.

“Why aren’t you?” Ronan says back. Adam makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and looks over his shoulder. “What, gonna rat me out to Dad?”

Ronan’s words are slurred enough for Adam to know that he’d been drinking far more than the couple of empty beer cans scattered around his bedroom floor.

“I’m not gonna _tattle,_ Ronan.” Adam kicks the can out from under his foot and moves farther into the room.

“Why not?” Ronan downs the last of his beer and crumples the can in his hand.

“It’s none of his business.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Adam stills. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He tosses the can at Adam’s feet and rolls onto his side, back to Adam. “Get out.”

“Ronan, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Adam approaches the bed and touches Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan flinches, hard, and Adam pulls his hand away like he’s been burned.

“Fine! Or don’t tell me, because that’s helpful!” Adam’s distantly aware that he’s yelling, and that he’d pronounced _that_ more like _thay-at_ , and that the room is unnaturally warm. Ronan stays where he is, staring at the wall like Adam hadn’t said anything.

Adam spins on his heel and walks out, closing the door behind him a little too hard. _Everything’s always a production with you,_ his father’s voice says. _Stop being so dramatic._

Gansey’s fussily making tea in the kitchen-bathroom-laundry, pretending he hadn’t heard every word Adam and Ronan had just said. Blue’s there, too, still wearing her shoes and jacket and backpack, giving Adam a wary look.

“Everything okay?” Gansey presses a mug into Adam’s hand.

“He’s just being an asshole.” Adam inconspicuously slides the mug into the sink, grabs a Coke from the fridge, and follows them out to the couch. “And he’s stinkin’ drunk.”

“He’s drunk?” Gansey frowns. It’s a delicate expression on him and Adam wants to wipe it away. Then, more to himself than to Adam: “I thought we were done with that.”

Blue snorts. “Ronan’s an alcoholic. He’s never gonna be done with that.”

Adam’s brain skips and sputters like a scratched record. Gansey says, “Huh,” at the same time that Adam says, “No, he’s not.”

“He drinks himself stupid every time he doesn’t want to deal with something. Which is, like, all the time.” Blue tucks her feet under herself and takes a noisy slurp of tea.

“No, my dad’s an alcoholic. Ronan’s not like that.”

“Just because he doesn’t act the same way doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the same problem.” Blue curbs the bite this time. Gansey’s eyes dart between Blue and Adam anxiously.

“Maybe I should enforce a no alcohol rule here,” Gansey says.

“That’ll go over great.” Blue rolls her eyes. “Isn’t he at the Barns half the time, anyway?”

“Will he stop if you ask him to?” Gansey looks at Adam.

Adam smirks, and it feels mean. “What makes you think he’d do anything I asked?”

“Because you’re his—you know.” Gansey waves a hand. “His whatever.”

“He won’t even tell me what’s wrong. Besides, if he’s actually got a—a _problem_ , it’ll take more than me just asking.”

“Wait.” Blue holds up a hand. “What do that mean, you’re his _whatever_? What’s that mean?”

Adam’s chest constricts, and Ronan chooses that moment to stomp out into the main room. All three of them unsubtly stare at him as he crosses behind the couch. 

“What, a man can’t piss in his own house?” Ronan sneers before letting his gaze settle on Adam. He rearranges his features with effort and glares at him blankly. “You’re still here?”

Blue gasps. Something inside of Adam tears. Ronan leaves the room.

“You can’t let him talk to you like that, Adam!” Blue exclaims with such force that tea sloshes over the side of her mug.

“I know.” Adam sounds miserable, pathetic. He sinks into the leather of the couch, letting the arm of it dig into his back.

“What did you even do to him?” Gansey asks.

“I don’t _know,_ because he won’t _tell me_!” Adam raises his voice at the end to ensure that Ronan hears him from the bathroom. He knows it’s immature, but he doesn’t care. If Ronan’s going to act like a child, then so is Adam.

Adam stands and grabs his hoodie. “Listen, I have to go, anyway.”

“No, you don’t!” Blue leaps to her feet. Gansey hisses as she spills hot tea spills on his knee. “Adam, he’s pushing you around.”

“He’s not making me do anything I don’t want to.”

“You shouldn’t leave just because he’s being a dick.”

“I’m leaving because I work for a living.”

“Your shift doesn’t start for hours,” Gansey points out as he stands, putting his body between Adam and Blue. 

“Who asked you?” Adam snarls. “I thought he was your responsibility, why are you shoving him on me all of a sudden?”

“I never said that he was my, my _responsibility_ —”

“You sure act like it.”

“Now _you’re_ being a dick,” Blue says. “You have no right to act all pissy. Just because we can’t hand him off to Noah anymore—”

She stops. Adam’s world slides sideways. 

The only sounds in the room are the ambient creakings of Monmouth Manufacturing, the shower running, and their harsh breaths.

Gansey breaks the silence. “Oh, God,” he says, collapsing back onto the couch, a puppet with its strings cut. He squeezes his eyes shut and puts his face in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Blue squeaks out.

“Don’t be sorry, Jane,” Gansey says, tilting his face up to hers. His cheeks are flushed. “It’s just. I.” 

“Forgot,” Adam breathes. “So did I.”

“Mom said this might happen,” Blue mutters.

“So you knew?” Adam’s world is still slippery and off-center. The fabric of his hoodie feels like it’s clenched in someone else’s fist.

“Adam.” Gansey’s voice is weary and old.

The look on Gansey’s face makes all the fight leave Adam. He’s sinking down on the couch without any conscious decision to do so.

“I didn’t know,” Blue says, seemingly unaffected by Gansey’s tone. “I wasn’t keeping it from you. It was just a possibility.”

Gansey looks towards the kitchen-bathroom-laundry. “We should talk to Ronan about this.” 

“No.” Gansey and Blue’s eyes bore into Adam’s skull. “He took it the hardest when we found out about Noah the first time.”

“Not telling him is immature,” Blue shoots back.

“Adam’s right,” Gansey says. “We shouldn’t keep it from him indefinitely, but with his mother, and Cabeswater…” Adam nods emphatically.

“Well, if you two are in agreement,” Blue says nastily.

“Jane—”

“No, no, the men make all the decisions around here, I know the deal." 

“Oh, come _on,_ Blue.” Adam rolls his eyes. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Like you would know anything about it, _Adam._ ”

“Know anything about what? Getting pushed around?”

Blue gapes, indignant. “That is completely different!”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” Adam whips his head around to Ronan, still dripping from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. “Do you two shitheads ever fucking stop?”

Adam closes his mouth and unclenches where he’s white-knuckling the couch cushion.

“I never forgot, by the way. But thanks for trying to protect my sanity or whatever.”

Ronan storms out, and the speeding tickets flutter with the force of which he slams his bedroom door.

“Well, then,” says Gansey.

“Have I ever mentioned that being friends with y’all is stressful?” Blue mutters. Adam’s inclined to agree.

 

Adam hasn’t been kissed in a week and it feels like it’s been an eternity.

“You need to work this out,” Gansey hisses at him at lunch. “He hasn’t been this bad since the summer.”

Adam can connect the dots. Gansey won’t say it, and neither will Ronan, but Adam knows he’s referring to Kavinsky. He’d barely given Kavinsky a second thought while the whole thing had been going on, too deep in his own shit to ponder someone else’s, but had felt relieved when it was over. But now, something too close to anger curdles in Adam’s stomach. 

“He wasn’t with Kavinsky, was he?”

“I don’t think so.” Gansey spears his soggy green beans. “I mean, I hope not. That guy was a nightmare. Why do you think he’s mad?" 

“I told you, I don’t know.” The meatloaf on Adam’s tray looks largely inedible. He allows himself a moment to resent Aglionby for being so goddamn expensive yet having such shit food. “He hasn’t said anything to you?” 

“We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff.” Gansey arranges his green beans into the shape of the ley line.

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know.” Gansey shrugs. “Dating stuff.”

All the blood drains out of Adam’s face.

“Did you ask him about me?” Gansey’s eyes flick up to Adam’s. “Like, that we’re…whatever?”

“Yeah,” Gansey says, drawing the word out a bit. “I may have mentioned it.”

“Shit.” Adam’s hands are clammy.

“I’m sorry,” Gansey blurts. “I wasn’t aware it was a secret.”

“Neither was I.” Adam puts his face in his hands, runs his fingers through his hair. “ _Shit_. Did he ever tell you that he was gay?”

Gansey lets out a steadying breath and shakes his head. “You need to talk to him, Adam. Like, today.” 

“I _know,_ ” Adam groans. “I have a shift right after school.” 

“So come by after that.”

“Yeah.” Adam nods. “Yeah. I will.”

 

It’s late by the time Adam closes up shop and drives over to Monmouth. He jimmies the door open when no one answers and finds Gansey sprawled on his bed in khakis and a polo so neon Adam’s not sure how he managed to close his eyes in the first place, mouth wide open and glasses jammed up against the side of his face. Ronan’s room is empty.

Adam heads back outside and hugs his hoodie around himself, flipping his keys between his fingers. He’s still catching up from the lost weekend, and gas is something to be conserved.

But Ronan has to be at the Barns.

The Hondoyota wheezes its way up Route 250. It’s dark enough this far into the mountains that Adam has to put his brights on—not that they’re actually _bright_ in any sense of the word. He turns them off as he approaches the main house anyway.

The porch light is off, but he can see that the kitchen and upstairs bedroom lights are on. If he squints, Adam can make out the shape of Orphan Girl crouched on the portico.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches the stairs. She looks up at him with big, black eyes. At first Adam thinks that she’s wittling, but, no, she’s just shredding bark off a particularly thick stick with her teeth. “Is Ronan in there?”

“He’s angry,” she warns. “He told me to go away.”

“Why’d he say that?”

“He said I smell like a farm animal.”

Adam raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you do.”

Orphan Girl huffs, indignant, and skitters off the other side of the wrap-around porch. The sound of her hooves disappears when she steps onto the soft ground on the side of the house.

The front door is not locked. Adam closes it behind him noisily and clomps his steel toes on the creaky, worn floor of the entryway. He wanders into the kitchen, where there are dirty bowls in the sink, and the living room, where there are blankets strewn across the couch. He checks the study, to be safe, but that room seems untouched. 

The smell of vomit and liquor hits Adam as soon as he gets to the second landing. He makes his way towards where light spills out from the open bathroom doorway.

Ronan’s in there, sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out in front of him, staring blankly at the unmoving shower curtain. He barely looks up when Adam appears in the doorframe.

“Seriously?” Adam hisses. It’s too vicious—Adam realizes it as soon as it he leaves his mouth, but Ronan barely flinches.

“What,” Ronan breaths. “Do you want.”

“I want to _apologize,_ but not when you’re—like this.”

Ronan’s eyes roll up towards him. “Like what?”

“Drunk.”

“Puking my guts out kind of killed my buzz.”

Adam heaves a sigh and sits down next to Ronan, shoulder-to-shoulder. The tiles are cold even through the thick canvas of his coveralls.

“Why do you do this?" 

“Well, my social worker would say it’s a _coping mechanism.”_ He pitches his voice high and nasally, heavy on the accent, an impression of a social worker that Adam’s not sure exists.

“Ronan.” Adam tries to grab Ronan’s hand from his lap, but he pulls it away. “Ronan. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told Gansey. I’m _sorry_.”

“I was supposed to tell him. I was _going_ to tell him.” It comes out like a gasp, and Adam can see Ronan’s throat working. “When?”

“Right after you kissed me. On your birthday.” 

“ _Jesus._ ” Ronan lets his head thump back against the plaster. “Do you run to Daddy every time you kiss someone, or only if it’s gay?”

“It was because it was you.”

“And, what? You thought it’d be fun to out me to my best friend?”

“He’s my best friend, too!” Adam exclaims. “You just went and kissed me without warning—" 

“Like you didn’t see it coming. I know you knew.” 

Adam makes a frustrated noise. “Of course I _knew._ I just didn’t know when. Or if. _Ronan._ ” Adam lets his head drop onto Ronan’s shoulder. “I know I fucked up. I freaked out. I don’t know what else I can do to make this better.” 

The silence is resounding. But when Adam walks his fingers down Ronan’s forearm and past the fine bones in his wrist, Ronan lets him intertwine their fingers. 

“This isn’t easy for me either,” Adam says quietly.

“So stop.”

Adam lifts his head and looks Ronan in the eyes. “You know as well as I do that it’s not as simple as that.”

Ronan drops Adam’s gaze and turns Adam’s palm around in his, then raises it to his mouth. It’s such an intensely intimate gesture that Adam nearly flinches.

“Yeah. I know." 

“I don’t like fighting with you,” Adam mumbles as he turns his face back into Ronan’s neck.

“Maybe we really should stop, then,” Ronan says with a faint smile. Adam just shakes his head, rubbing his nose into Ronan’s skin. He smells like BO and boy.

“Ronan.” Adam feels Ronan shiver a little, an involuntary reaction to Adam’s breath on him. “Do you want to stay in the closet?”

Ronan sighs. Adam had expected much worse—muscles stiffening, being pushed away. But he just rolls his head to rest on top of Adam’s.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“Do you?”

“No.” The immediacy of the answer shocks Adam a bit. “Well, maybe at school.”

Ronan snorts. “That would be a nightmare.”

Adam’s stomach flips and clenches in an uncomfortable way just thinking about it. Aglionby is an old boy’s club, and while brotherly, homoerotic camaraderie is encouraged, being out and proud is not.

“Can we tell our friends?" 

“Gansey already knows.” 

Adam lets the words roll off him. “We have other friends.”

“Sargent? Sure.” Adam raises his eyebrows a bit—that came quick. “You think that’ll be weird?”

“Why would it?”

“I don’t know. You guys dated.”

“Barely.”

Ronan smirks, then lets it fall. “Cheng, though.”

“We don’t have to tell him if you don’t want.”

“He’ll find out.”

“Does that bother you?”

This is where Ronan tenses and pulls away. Not a lot, just lifts his head up and raises his shoulder until Adam is forced to do the same.

“Yes,” Ronan forces out. “I barely know him.”

“I don’t think he’d care—” Adam starts softly.

“That’s not the point,” Ronan interrupts.

“Fine. So we ask them not to tell him.”

“And I don’t want a, like.” Ronan waves his hand vaguely. “Formal. Sit-down. Whatever.”

“Like anything could be formal with you.”

“Damn straight.” Adam opens his mouth and Ronan covers it with his hand. “Don’t even say it. Cheap shot.”

Adam licks Ronan’s hand and Ronan lets it happen, then pulls his hand away and rubs Adam’s own saliva on his face.

“You’re gross,” Adam says, rubbing his face on the towel that’s on the rack above them.

“ _You’re_ gross,” Ronan retorts.

Ronan wrestles Adam off the ground, presses him against the wall, and kisses him messily. Adam lets him do it for a second, but twists his face away—“Your breath tastes like shit, Lynch.” “You know what that tastes like, huh?”—and pushes Ronan to the sink, running his hands up and down his ribcage as he brushes his teeth. They grapple their way down the hallway and collapse into Ronan’s bed. Ronan lets Adam explore his tattoo with his fingers and his mouth until he’s panting and pressing himself against the sheets. Adam hadn’t had the foresight to bring his school uniform along, and he’s going to have to get up stupidly early in the morning, but he lets himself fall asleep with his chest against Ronan’s back anyway.

 

It’s not as awkward as Adam had thought it would be, after. Neither of them have much practice in relationships, or communicating their feelings, or—being functional human beings, really, but they do have practice fighting with each other. Things are different now, but the functions of making up are about the same. 

Ronan had sneered at the idea of telling Gansey and Blue together, but laid claim on Gansey quick enough, effectively giving Adam the responsibility of telling Blue. 

Adam had said it wouldn’t be awkward, but he’s not 100% sure that’s true. His relationship with Blue is still a bit of a soft spot for him, exacerbated by the fact that she’d tried to hide her relationship with Gansey from him due to…fear? Judgement? Adam’s not sure.

They hadn’t been right for each other, Adam knows that now. But he thinks they could’ve had something if he hadn’t been so pushy and selfish.

It’s a rare afternoon where both Ronan and Gansey are busy—both in DC for “family stuff,” though Adam knows that only one of them is going to actually _see_ their family—so Adam goes to Blue’s after school. It’s properly fall now, and Adam had had to dig out his “winter” coat—an oversized, flannel-insulated workman’s jacket from Goodwill—from the boxes that have sat untouched in the corner of St. Agnes since last semester. The morning before, Ronan had handed him a heathered grey beanie on the way out the door and Adam, watching his breath puff in front of him, had taken it without comment.

“You look like a hipster,” Blue says when she opens the door.

“Am I a hipster if I’m actually poor?” Adam asks as he wipes his shoes on the rug. Blue laughs and walks them to her room. 

She flops down on her bed. Adam tugs his jacket and uniform sweater off, the hat going along with it. He shakes his hair out and collapses next to her.

“It’s so long,” Blue says. She runs her fingers through it, tucking a piece behind his ear.

“My mom always cut it. So.”

Blue hums and combs her fingers through the back, where it’s starting to poke out over his shirt collar. “I can cut it for you, if you want.”

“Maybe.” Adam has to swallow a tiny lump in his throat. “Maybe closer to my interviews, though." 

“Sure.” They’re pressed arm-to-arm, and Blue feels tiny and alive next to him, a little like a bird. Adam wants to drape himself over her, the way he does to Ronan, but restrains himself. “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just feel like there was all the drama with—with Gansey, and Ronan, and they obviously both lost a lot, but—” She sighs and brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “You lost Cabeswater. And it just seems like you’ve been doing all this damage control for Ronan and nothing for yourself.”

“It’s not exactly damage control,” Adam says. His face is starting to get hot.

“You’re always with him, though. Or you’re looking for him.”

“That’s because we’re—it’s because we’re together.” Adam’s tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. 

“Yeah,” Blue says. “I know.” 

Adam sits up. “What do you mean, you know?” 

“Gansey may have… implied something,” she says, tugging at his elbow to coax him back down.

“Oh.” Adam feels frozen and bold at the same time. “Are you surprised?”

 “Honestly? Not really.” 

Adam feels weirdly crestfallen. He’s skating the razor edge of panic, and the juxtaposition of Blue’s words and her actions is keeping him from tipping. He tamps down the inappropriate impulse to laugh. 

“Are you gay?” Blue asks.

“I dated _you_.” Adam nearly winces as the defensiveness in his voice.

Blue shrugs, which bunches the comforter up behind her shoulders. “So?”

“No. I’m not.”

“So, both?”

“I think so.”

“Thanks for telling me,” she says. She’s smiling at him in the way that people smile at skittish toddlers. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It was probably about as bad for y’all,” Adam mutters.

“That’s _totally_ different!” Blue sits up and flaps her hands. “Me and Gansey — it was a secret for — for no good reason!  No one’s gonna judge me for dating a boy, and, and we can get married in any state we _want_ —”

“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Adam laughs. Blue throws herself face-down on the pillow. “I could get married in Connecticut if I wanted.”

“Fuck Connecticut,” Blue says into the pillow. “I just want one thing to be easy for you, Adam.”

The smile drops off Adam’s face. The lump in his throat is back and his eyeballs burn.

“Shit.” Blue pushes herself up onto her forearms. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” he chokes out. Blue pulls his head into her chest and buries her nose in his hair. Adam syncs his breathing with hers.

Adam’s on the edge of sleep when Blue’s newly-acquired cell phone buzzes obnoxiously. She grabs it from the bedside table best she can without moving and flips the keyboard up to painstakingly type a reply. 

“Gansey?” Adam mutters, still pillowed on her chest.

“Wants to know if we’re doing anything fun,” Blue answers. The phone closes with a satisfying _clack._ “Told him we’re painting our nails and having girl talk.” 

“Bet he’ll be jealous.”

“Oh, very.”

They eventually get up. Adam tries and fails at a card reading with Maura. Blue submits a college application for a school in Oregon. They eat cold leftover rotisserie chicken for dinner.

Blue hugs Adam around the waist when he leaves for his shift at the factory.

“You can always talk to me, you know,” she says. “Even though I think you have terrible taste in men.”

Adam laughs. “You two are more similar than you think.”

“Keep pushing it.” Blue glowers up at him and Adam laughs harder.

“He’s hot and you know it.”

“I can’t manage to get past the godawful personality.” Blue extracts herself from Adam’s arms and pats her hair, which bounces back to the exact amount of messiness within seconds. “He’s got nice arms, though.”

Adam’s still laughing when Blue shoves him out the front door.

 

Ronan shows up while Adam is wilting over his AP Gov homework. The sun had already sunk and the last bit of light stretches up over the mountains. Adam’s not a fan of winter—the sun sets too early for his tastes, and his electric bills are sure to skyrocket.

“Hey.” Ronan doesn’t step in when Adam opens the door. “How was Washington?”

“Shit,” Ronan says. He dangles his car keys in the air, wrist limp in a sarcastically feminine way. “Go for a drive?”

“Sure.” Adam pulls on his boots and jacket and trots out behind him.

“Here.” Ronan drops the keys into Adam’s hand when they reach the car. “I’ve been driving all day. Your turn.”

Adam raises his eyebrows but gets in the driver’s side nonetheless. He fiddles with the seat and mirrors—he’s only an inch or two shorter than Ronan, but Ronan drives practically lying down—and pulls out of the lot.

“Anywhere in particular?” Adam asks.

“Nope.”

“Music?”

“Aux cord’s busted,” Ronan says. “Radio works, if you like country music.” 

“I actually do.”

“Of course you do, you fucking redneck.”

Adam can feel the beginning of a wound, but when he catches sight of Ronan’s smile in the corner of his eye, it fades.

They fly south in silence. The mountains are huge and black on either side of them. Ronan doesn’t take his eyes off Adam the whole time.

“Hey,” Ronan says, voice soft. Adam’s not sure how much time has passed—long enough that it’s properly night now. “Pull off.”

“Why?" 

“Do I need a reason?” Ronan brings his wrist up to his mouth and gnaws on the leather bands there.

Adam shrugs. “I guess not.”

Adam pulls off and shifts the car into park on an abandoned road. He feels illicit and teenaged when Ronan leans across the center console to press his mouth against Adam’s. 

Adam lights up, hands on Ronan’s shoulders immediately. Ronan threads his fingers through Adam’s hair and Adam bites Ronan’s lip. Their teeth clack painfully and Ronan has to pull back to readjust. Adam’s right elbow is pressed between the seat and his own body, and he has to keep kicking his leg back so he doesn’t accidentally flood the engine. The center console is the worst thing in the world right now.

Adam pulls Ronan more so he has to lean over the console. There’s the dull thud of Ronan’s elbow hitting something plastic, and Adam barely hears Ronan’s hiss of pain before loud, twangy guitar fills the car. 

“Fuck!” Ronan spits. He slams his hand onto the volume knob, muting the radio once again. Adam shakes with laughter. “Jesus. You _fucking_ hick.”

“How is this my fault?” Adam asks, shoving at Ronan’s shoulder.

“It just is, asshole.”

Adam’s still laughing when Ronan kisses him again, and the feeling of Ronan’s lips on his teeth is weird enough that he twists his head away. Ronan kisses him under his jaw, then licks his collarbone, and Adam can’t suppress a gasp.

“Can we—” Adam takes a breath. “Backseat?”

Ronan nods and scrambles over the front seats, smacking his head on the ceiling in the process.

“Jesus, you’re clumsy,” Adam says as he climbs back, ducking his head carefully. 

“Whatever.” Ronan rolls his eyes and crowds Adam against the door. “You like it.”

“Yeah,” Adam says faintly. Ronan’s on him again, one hand pressed hard against Adam’s hip, the other sliding up his thigh, his stomach, his chest. Ronan shoves Adam’s jacket off his shoulders, which gets bunched around Adam’s wrists, and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt.

Adam has to extract himself to untangle his jacket, then pulls his t-shirt off without finesse. Ronan sucks at his neck and drags his fingers against his nipple.

“You—you miss me?” Adam gasps.

“Yeah.” Ronan’s voice is low and it makes Adam shudder.

Ronan lets his head drop onto Adam’s shoulder. They both pause, their harsh breathing the only sound in the car. Ronan’s hand has moved down to trace the line of fair hair below Adam’s navel. Adam’s hyper-aware that Ronan can see that he’s hard in his jeans.

“You can,” Adam says. Then, hurriedly, “If you want.”

“Okay.” Ronan fingers the button on Adam’s jeans.

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to, shit-for-brains.” Ronan undoes the button and zipper, making Adam’s laugh turn breathless when his finger brushes against his dick.

Adam can barely look when Ronan pulls him out of his boxers. His face is burning so hot it’s probably glowing and his thighs shake minutely.

Ronan runs his thumb along the underside, around the head, then jerks him once with his whole hand. Adam sighs and buries his face in Ronan’s neck. Ronan does it again, then again.

“Ronan. Ronan, give me—” Adam grabs at Ronan’s wrist and he stops immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s too—” Adam doesn’t finish, just licks the palm of Ronan’s hand to get it wet. He feels out of his mind, and Ronan’s groan makes him dizzy.

Adam’s eyes practically roll back in his head when Ronan’s hand returns to his dick, slick and hot. He’s swallowing down noises out of habit, but he can’t stop his hips from working. His leg is cramping from where it’s pinned between Ronan’s torso and the seatback, and the door handle digs into his spine, but he just doesn’t _care._ Ronan rolls Adam’s balls in his free hand and Adam actually does moan, that time.

“Shit, I’m close,” Adam says, words slightly muffled against Ronan’s skin. Ronan nods, fingering where Adam’s balls are drawn up close to his body and pumps him faster.

Adam makes a small, surprised noise and comes, face buried in Ronan’s neck. When he looks down, Ronan’s hand is covered, and it makes him shiver.

Ronan wipes his hand on Adam’s jeans. 

“ _Gross,_ Ronan,” Adam says, jerking back.

“You can use my washing machine,” Ronan says. He’s steadfastly not looking Adam in the eye.

“Hey.” Adam touches Ronan’s face. “Are you okay?”

Ronan exhales shakily and lets his eyes fall closed. He leans into Adam’s touch and nods.

“Do you want me to…” Adam lets his hand slide up Ronan’s thigh and squeezes. Ronan’s eyelids fly open and he pushes into the touch. 

“Please,” he says. Heat flushes down Adam’s spine.

Adam tucks himself back in and reaches over to squeeze between Ronan’s legs. Ronan huffs and pushes forward more.

“Calm down, I’m getting to it,” Adam grumbles. 

“Well, if it’s such a chore—uh—” Ronan cuts himself off when Adam puts his hand down his boxers. Ronan’s dick is hard and hot, and feels thicker in Adam’s hand than his own.

Adam pulls him out and strokes slowly, watching the head disappear over and over again in his hand. He wonders what it would feel like in his mouth.

The thought causes saliva to rush up and his own dick to twitch against his leg. He pauses and blinks a few times. 

“Adam?” Ronan’s voice is impossibly quiet.

“Can I blow you?” The words come out fast and the Henrietta vowels clang unpleasantly against his ear. 

Ronan sucks in a breath through his teeth and reaches down to squeeze the base of his dick. “Shitting Christ. Fucking sure.”

Adam sinks to his knees in the seatwell and Ronan shifts so he’s fully on the seat. Adam tugs Ronan’s jeans and underwear so they’re around his ankles. Ronan’s face and neck are flushed, and Adam’s sure if he got his shirt off he’d be red all the way down his chest. He runs his hands against the grain of the hair on Ronan’s thighs, and Ronan squirms. 

“I’m not gonna last,” Ronan says.

“Okay,” Adam replies. He licks a stripe up his cock and Ronan whines. He puts his lips around the head and sucks, carefully keeping his teeth back. Ronan puts a hand in Adam’s hair, not pulling, just threading it through his fingers. 

He carefully works his way down the shaft. It feels much bigger in his mouth than it had in his hand, but the panting above him and the slight ache starting in his jaw is making him hard again.

Giving head is more complicated than Adam had thought. He’s trying not to drool, but it’s not easy. Every time he swallows around Ronan, his fingers clench and unclench in Adam’s hair. His fist is wrapped around the base of Ronan’s dick and he’s giving a valiant attempt to keep his strokes in time with his mouth. The head of Ronan’s dick is dangerously close to the back of his throat, and he’s breathing hard through his nose.

Adam sucks and swallows again, and Ronan slurs something above him. Adam tries to say, “What?” but with a dick in his mouth it comes out like, “Mmmm?” Ronan gasps and twitches and unsuccessfully tries to push Adam away by the hair before coming in his mouth.

Adam’s not expecting it. It’s salty and hot and he inhales sharply in surprise. He pulls away, gagging, and when he exhales it comes rushing out his nostrils. He sits back against the driver’s seat and presses his fingers to the sides of his nose, exhaling through it to try and get the rest out.

“Shit, are you okay?” Ronan leans forward and his hands flutter around the sides of Adam’s head.

“Gimme a sec,” Adam says. His voice is rough.

“Oh my God, are you crying?”

“ _No_ , I just.” Adam rubs his face on his discarded shirt, trying to get off errant tears and come. “It came out my nose.”

Ronan freezes. “What?” Adam just glares up at him. Ronan’s mouth twitches upwards.

“Don’t you dare fucking laugh at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are." 

“Jesus. Get up here, Parrish.” He tugs Adam up onto the seat next to him and then leans forward to dig around in the center console. He comes back with a bunch of fast-food napkins. 

“Thanks.” He doesn’t think there’s any more in his sinuses, but he blows anyway. “Give a guy a warning next time.”

“I tried.” Ronan twines their fingers together. “You good?”

Adam nods. The movement causes a sharp pain between his eyes, and he winces.

“Hell, you really got it up there, huh?” Ronan’s smiling again. Adam’s lips tug up without his permission.

“Your fault.”

“No, still yours.” Adam laughs, and Ronan shoves him. Adam tries to shove back but Ronan catches his wrist, and they end up making out again, sitting up in the middle seat.

Adam’s eyelids are sagging by the time they finally make their way home. Ronan drives and lets Adam put the radio on on the way back, and soft, crooning music fills the car. Adam doesn’t take his eyes off Ronan the whole time.

 

Christmas hadn’t been a holiday that the Parrishes observed. Well, scratch that—the Parrishes hadn’t observed any holidays. Adam thinks his mother may be vaguely religious—there’s a cross over the dresser in his parents’ bedroom—but none of it had been passed down to Adam. He thinks he remembers being very small at a sit-down meal with his parents and grandparents, though he can’t be sure if it was Thanksgiving or Christmas, or if the memory is real in the first place.

The holidays in general don’t mean anything to Adam, other than being able to pick up more shifts during school break.

Gansey, of course, makes it an affair.

“I can’t miss that much work, Gansey,” Adam tells him between classes.

“When was the last time you took a break?” Gansey demands.

Adam sighs. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you’ve made it abundantly clear that I’ll never understand,” Gansey says briskly. “How about we make a deal? If you come to Georgetown for Christmas, I won’t bother you for all of Easter.”

“No.”

“Adam—”

“I said no, Gansey.”

“Fine,” Gansey snaps. “Stay in Henrietta and be miserable by yourself, then.”

“I fully plan on it." 

Gansey huffs and pulls out his phone to check his email. The victory doesn’t feel very good.

 

Adam books himself solid at Boyd’s. The factory gives Christmas off, claiming it has too many full-time employees to justify staying open, but Adam thinks it’s so corporate won’t make them pay their part-timers time-and-a-half. Boyd, on the other hand, doesn’t pay time-and-a-half to begin with. 

Adam’s halfway through an eight-hour shift, bent over the hood of someone’s crappy Subaru, when Boyd comes stomping out to the floor, keys jingling.

“Parrish, finish up with that thing and go home,” Boyd wheezes. 

Adam lifts his head out of the car and takes stock of the shop. He’s the only one working. “You’re cutting me?”

“Daughter just went into labor.” He pulls a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and lights it. “Gotta head over to Charlottesville. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“You closin’ down shop?” Adam’s stomach turns.

“Yeah. Probably through till New Year’s.”

“Oh.”

“Enjoy your Christmas, kid,” Boyd says gruffly. “You know how to close up. I’ll call you when I’m back in town.”

Adam watches Boyd’s pick-up chug down the highway and out of sight.

Which is how Adam ends up trapped in the BMW, sitting in I-66 East holiday traffic.

“Were you not going to go?” Adam had asked Ronan when he climbed in, eyeing Ronan’s well-pressed shirt and church-going shoes.

“I was thinking about it,” Ronan sneered, which Adam knows meant _no, not unless you were._

Adam’s only been to DC a few times, and always with Gansey. There’d been an overnight trip with his middle school, but his parents wouldn’t give him the money to go with. He’d spent those days in school with the few other kids who couldn’t go watching bad movie adaptations of books.

Washington is like a different country. The glittering bay, the pristine white monuments, people bustling about in suits and high heels—all of it is so unfamiliar to Adam. The sky seems naked without mountains, and what trees there are stand barren and finger-like against the polluted sky.

“ _Jesus_ , Lynch, if you would just slow down—” Adam huffs at the third traffic circle Ronan has stopped short at while entering.

“Don’t tell me how to drive, I know how to drive.”

“The speed limit’s twenty-five! You’re going, like, _forty._ ”

“Twenty-five’s not a real speed!” 

By the time they pull into Gansey’s development, Adam’s cranky and his back aches and he wants to be anywhere but the BMW. He slams the door too hard when he climbs out and can’t seem to pull his eyebrows out of a frown.

Helen opens the front door for them. She gives Adam a quick, professional hug and smiles vacantly at Ronan.

“Dick and Blue went to the store, and I think Henry is sleeping,” Helen says. “But I can show you guys where you’re staying.” 

She leads them to the basement, which is decked out with Washington Nationals banners and photos from various family trips to Europe. In them, the Ganseys are smiling, brunette, almost Kennedy-like. There are no pictures of Gansey himself for about four trips in a row, giving the illusion that he went from an awkward 12-year-old to a broad-shouldered, handsome youth with nothing in between. 

“The couch pulls out,” Helen says. “And there’s an air mattress in the closet. Gansey said you two wouldn’t mind sharing a room.”

“Did he, now?” Ronan asks, quirking an eyebrow. Adam shoots him a look. Helen’s eyes dart between the two of them.  

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she finally says. “Help yourselves to anything in the fridge.”

They make up the pull-out, but not the air mattress. Ronan smacks Adam’s ass with a rolled-up magazine while he’s putting the fitted sheet on, and Adam kicks him dangerously close to the balls as revenge. They collapse onto the lazily made bed and watch YouTube videos on Ronan’s iPhone until Blue comes barreling down the stairs thirty minutes later.

“Get up, assholes,” she says. “We got fancy cheap wine. And board games.”

“That literally sounds like torture,” Ronan says, not taking his eyes off the little screen. Adam’s suddenly hyper aware that they’re spooned together, Adam’s head resting under Ronan’s chin and his arm curled around Ronan’s waist, legs tangled.

“Gansey got you Guinness draught,” Blue sings. Ronan’s eyebrows perk up.

“Fine,” he grunts. “Parrish, get off.”

“Seriously?” Adam hisses to Blue when he meets her at the stairs. Ronan’s already disappeared around the corner.

“What?” Blue stares up at him, indignant.

“You’re bribing him with _booze_?”

“It’s Christmas,” she says, crossing her arms.

“What are you two whispering about?” Ronan peeks around the doorframe at the top of the stairs.

“Adam’s mad we bought you alcohol,” Blue says, bratty and vindictive. Adam swears and focuses on the rack of pool cues at the far end of the den. 

“It’s Christmas, Parrish,” Ronan says flatly.

“You can’t use that as an excuse.” Adam changes his focus to the wood grain on the stairs. 

“Sure I can.” Ronan shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the doorframe. “My whole family’s dead or hates me, so I’m spending Christmas at my best friend’s very Republican parent’s house. What’s not to drink about?”

“Jesus, Ronan,” Blue whispers.

Ronan points at her. “Exactly.”

“Well, I’m not cleaning you up when you puke,” Adam says.

“I’m not gonna puke.” Ronan rolls his eyes. “I won’t even drink that much, if your panties are in such a twist about it.”

“How much is not that much?” 

Ronan shrugs. “I dunno. Not the whole pack?”

“Gee, you’re really making leaps and strides here, Lynch.”

“You seriously need to chill out, man,” Ronan whines, slumping against the wall, petulant.

“Fine. Whatever.” Adam shoots Blue one last look before following Ronan up the stairs.

Adam knows that alcohol is an all-or-nothing game. He also knows that he can’t force Ronan to do something he doesn’t want to. Not right now, anyway.

Blue and Ronan loiter in the kitchen, so Adam heads out to the patio. Gansey and Henry are already at the table. Henry’s bent over and doing something intricate with his hands, but his hair has flopped over, obscuring Adam’s view. It’s colder here than in Henrietta; he shivers.

“Sorry, my parents have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy,” Gansey says. He motions at a pile of sweatshirts on an empty rocker. “There are blankets inside if you get too cold.” Adam nods pulls a sweater over his head that boasts ARLINGTON FOREST SWIM TEAM ‘08 before sitting in an empty seat.

“That a joint, Cheng?” Ronan asks as he sits down next to Adam. The beer in his hand is already open. 

“Of course,” Henry says smoothly without looking up. “It’s not Christmas without weed, my friend." 

“Somehow, I haven’t heard that one before,” Ronan deadpans. Henry looks up at him through his bangs and smirks.

Blue comes and sits between Adam and Henry, completing the circle. She’s got a bottle of wine and some stemless glasses in her hands. Gansey makes grabby hands as she starts pouring. 

“You want a glass?” She asks Adam. He shakes his head.

“Oh, come on,” Ronan says. “You’ll be the only sober one here.”

Adam sighs. “What else is new?” 

“Do you want to try?” Henry twists the joint closed and lifts it between two fingers.

Adam’s never tried weed before. He’s not sure he’s seen it, even—he’s definitely smelled it, though, around the trailer park and in the halls of Mountain View in the year he was there. He doesn’t have any particularly bad memories attached to it. 

“Sure,” he says. Ronan grins and fist-bumps him.

“I couldn’t find my pack of Cards Against Humanity, but they had the _deluxe_ pack at Target,” Gansey says.

“Oh, _yes,_ ” Ronan hisses.

“Oh my God, can we set some ground rules?” Blue asks. 

“There are no rules to Cards Against Humanity,” Ronan replies. “Most offensive wins.” 

“Pretty sure that’s not how the game works,” Adam mutters.

Ronan clutches a hand to his chest. “ _Et tu, Brute_?” Adam rolls his eyes.

Henry shows Adam how to smoke while Gansey deals. The first hit sends him into a coughing fit strong enough that he has to down some of Henry’s kombucha, which is fucking disgusting, but is also the only non-alcoholic drink at the table. By the third, Adam’s feels slightly out of body and his eyes won’t unstick from where Ronan’s collarbones are peeking out from underneath the collar of his t-shirt.

“Adam, it’s your turn,” Blue says distantly. Adam looks at her and laughs, even though nothing she said was particularly funny. Blue turns to Henry. “Jesus, what did you do to him?”

“It’s that good kush, little blue bird,” Henry says serenely. “Want to try?”

Blue shrugs and plucks the joint from Henry’s fingers. Ronan whoops and Adam throws an arm around her neck and squeezes.

Adam feels weird and disjointed. He’s aware that his face hurts from smiling at nothing and his palm is sweating against Ronan’s under the table. Blue spills her glass of wine on the cards, rendering the game over. She and Ronan get up to play some game out on the lawn while Gansey referees, drink in hand.

On his fifth double take towards the Ganseys’ living room, Henry gently puts his hands on Adam’s shoulders and says, “Stop. They don’t care.” 

“Who?”

“Gansey’s parents. The weed is making you paranoid, man. It’s fine.” Adam nods along to Henry’s words, letting his fingers unclench where they were fisted against into the sweatshirt.

“I’m okay,” Adam says.

“Glad to hear it.”

Gansey charges back to the table, slamming his hands down on it. Blue jogs behind him and wraps a hand around his waist.

“He’s done,” she says.

“Fucking lightweight,” Ronan adds. 

“To your bedroom, Richardman?” Henry stands and puts a supporting arm around Gansey’s other side.

“Indeed, Cheng,” Gansey agrees. He lets his head loll onto Henry’s shoulder. “Excelsior.”

Adam watches them go in before shuffling over to Ronan and folding himself into Ronan’s chest.

“C’mon, cowboy,” Ronan says, pulling Adam’s dragging feet into the house and down the steps to the den. “God, you’re clingy.”

Adam makes an affronted sound into the skin of Ronan’s neck. He smells like grass. He wants to hold onto Ronan like this for the rest of his life, probably.

Ronan deposits Adam onto the bed and sits down next to him, leaning down to unlace his Docs. 

“Are you drunk?” Adam asks.

“Yeah,” Ronan says. He pushes Adam’s sneakers off with his toe.

“Okay.”

“Not that drunk.”

“Okay,” Adam repeats. He runs a hand across Ronan’s cheek, feeling his five-o-clock shadow and the sharpness of his jawline. He traces a finger along Ronan’s bottom lip, then pushes in past Ronan’s teeth. Ronan inhales sharply and sucks. Adam adds another.

Adam watches, entranced, until Ronan tugs at his wrist and leans in to kiss him.

The kiss is all-encompassing. Adam slips his tongue into Ronan’s mouth, filthy and wet. He tugs them to lie lengthwise on the mattress so he can roll on top of Ronan and grind down. 

“Jesus,” Ronan breathes, breaking away. “Who knew drugs made you this horny?”

“I’m always this horny,” Adam blurts. Ronan laughs brightly. The flush of embarrassment is a moment too late, and he gets distracted from it by Ronan pulling his hand to his mouth again, just to rest his lips on Adam’s fingers. 

“What do you want, Adam?” Ronan asks, voice soft. Adam doesn’t say anything, just puts his fingers back into Ronan’s mouth and rolls his hips. Ronan hums and sucks them as far back as he can before he gags, and Adam’s hips stutter against Ronan’s thigh. 

“Okay, okay,” Ronan mumbles. Adam can feel the vibration of it in his hand. Ronan pushes Adam so he’s lying on his back before climbing between Adam’s legs, breath hot over denim. Adam lets out a harsh breath as Ronan pulls down his jeans and underwear together. 

They haven’t done this. Since the car, they’ve traded sloppy handjobs, but Adam is a little wary to try again on Ronan. Ronan seems a little wary in general, so Adam lets him set the pace, for the most part. 

Adam watches as Ronan licks experimentally around the head of his dick before going down on it completely. Adam jerks and whines high in his throat. He lets himself fall into the feeling, hands fisted in the sheets, trying to keep his hips still. It’s hot and wet and the way Ronan’s lips are stretched around him is obscene. He reaches down to feel himself through the thin skin of Ronan’s cheek. 

“Ronan, I’m gonna come,” Adam gasps, pushing weakly at Ronan’s shoulder. Luckily, horribly, Ronan hears him and pulls off, finishing Adam with his hand. Ronan drapes himself over Adam, reaches down his pants, and comes with only a few tugs. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Ronan says. 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees.

Ronan pulls back, and his eyes go wide for a moment. He schools his face and flops back next to Adam.

“What?” Adam asks.

“Nothing,” he says. He’s a terrible liar. 

“Ronan.” Adam shifts onto his elbows.

“We got come all over his sweatshirt,” Ronan says so quickly Adam almost has to ask him to repeat it.

“Oh,” Adam says. “ _Shit._ ”

“He won’t even notice if he doesn’t get it back,” Ronan grumbles. His face is bright red, betraying his casual tone. 

Adam carefully pulls Gansey’s sweatshirt off, careful not to get come on his own clothing.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” Adam says.

“We should probably just burn that,” Ronan replies, wrinkling his nose a little. 

“Probably.”

Adam and Ronan burst into laughter at the same time.

They hide it in their bags, committed to smuggling the evidence home with them, and fall asleep with the lights still on.

 

Adam dozes for the full thirty minutes it takes Gansey to find a parking spot anywhere in the vicinity of the National Mall. It’s a grey December day, the drizzling rain verging on ice as it patters against the Camaro’s tired windshield. This car isn’t meant for city driving, and every time Gansey swears and shifts from second to first, the car shudders and Adam jolts into awareness. 

“There’s one there, right _there_ , Gansey!” Blue leans forward between the front seats and gestures wildly. Gansey swerves across four lanes of traffic and Ronan curses loudly.

“Finessed like a true gentlemen,” Henry remarks when Gansey’s solidly in the spot. The Pig is a smear of orange in a sea of black and grey coupes with diplomatic plates. 

“I need another coffee,” is Gansey’s answer, eyes already locked on the Starbucks at the corner.

“They’ll make you throw it out at the museum,” Henry points out, but Gansey’s already stepping out of the car and looking for his opportunity to cross the street. 

Adam, Blue, and Ronan loiter by the merchandise while Gansey and Henry get whatever expensive concoctions they order here. 

“Care for some memorabilia?” Ronan shows Adam a travel mug with a Washington street map pattern.

“Not really,” Adam says.

“This is _twenty-five dollars_ ,” Blue exclaims, snatching the mug from Ronan’s hands.

“Worth it,” Ronan says. “I’d forget I ever came to Washington if I didn’t pay out the ass for this coffee mug.”

“You don’t even drink coffee,” Adam says. 

“Think Red Bull would taste good in this?” Ronan cocks an eyebrow. Blue just shakes her head and leafs through a pamphlet advertising duck tours.

Gansey and Henry shuffle over, drinks in hand. Ronan looks him up and down and says, “You’re seriously still hungover?” 

“Yes, Ronan, I seriously am,” Gansey says, sipping his drink serenely.

“Nothing a good bout of history won’t fix,” Henry says.

“Definitely a cure-all,” Gansey grins. Ronan meets Adam’s eyes and scoffs the word, “Nerds,” under his breath. 

Adam had been a little surprised when Gansey, red-eyed and shakily clutching his mug of coffee, had suggested going to a Smithsonian that morning. But Adam had never been to one, which Gansey must have known, so he’d agreed. It’s not like _Adam_ was hungover. Just dizzy.

The museum isn’t very crowded, making the glass lobby seem cavernous. Security makes Gansey throw out his half-finished cappuccino. 

“This seems too normal for us,” Adam says to Ronan. They’re both lazily examining a German aircraft. Gansey, Blue, and Henry had run ahead and gotten sucked into a touch-screen farther down the hall. The back of Ronan’s hand keeps touching Adam’s. Every time it does, electricity zings down Adam’s spine. 

“I’m okay with that,” Ronan replies. He turns to look at Adam, and Adam does the same. “You okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Adam hooks his pinky into Ronan’s. Ronan lets him.

“I don’t know. You were making a face.” Ronan shrugs languidly. “You looked kind of constipated.” 

Adam snorts. “I’m alright.”

“Let’s go check that out.” Ronan pulls his hand away and leads Adam to a wall of text about Allied fighter planes.

“You want to read about the… British Submarine Spitfire?”

“No, idiot.” Ronan rolls his eyes and jerks his head to the exit sign next to the display. He opens the door to an empty stairwell and stares at Adam until he sighs and follows.

Ronan’s kissing him as soon as the door closes behind them. It’s not the most romantic of settings—the fluorescents are harsh on the concrete walls and it smells strongly of paint—but Adam’s fine with that. The leather of Ronan’s jacket creaks in Adam’s fists.

“Hi,” Adam says when Ronan pulls back, surprised at how breathless he sounds.

“Hey,” Ronan says back.

“What was that about?” Adam smooths down the lapels of Ronan’s jacket and watches his pupils dilate a little.  

“This museum’s so _boring_.” Ronan rests his forehead on Adam’s shoulder.

“That’s because you’ve been before.”

“Yeah, and you look so enthralled out there.” Adam laughs and runs the pads of his fingers across Ronan’s hair. It’s soft now; he needs to buzz it.

“At least Gansey’s having fun.”

Ronan pulls back and straightens out, taking a step away from Adam to lean against the wall. “Of course he is. This museum is specifically targeted at people like him.” Adam laughs.

“Declan and Matthew are coming down for New Year’s,” Ronan says suddenly. “I was thinking of having a thing. You know. With everyone.”

“That’s cool,” Adam says.

“Yeah.” Ronan runs a hand over his skull. “Are you working?” 

“Probably not. Boyd said he’ll be out of town until after the new year.”

Ronan smiles. It’s genuine. “You can stay the night, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure.” He leans against the wall next to him and tangles their hands together.

Adam’s mind is racing. It’s not like he’s never met Declan and Matthew before. Hell, he’d seen them a few weeks ago. 

They’re Ronan’s family, though. It feels significant.

It also feels significant that Ronan had actually invited him to stay. Ronan has never asked him, in so many words, to stay over. It had always just… happened.

Adam wonders if Ronan is going to tell his brothers. The thought makes Adam’s palms start to itch. Gansey knows, and Blue knows, and Henry… no one told him, but he seems to know. And Adam’s fine with that. He is. He’d never planned on ever actually telling anyone he wasn’t straight, but now that it’s out there, it’s fine.

But for it to be known outside of their bubble makes this seem so much more real. Less like it’s something that is just happening to Adam and more like something Adam and Ronan are doing on purpose.

“So do you think you’ll come?” Ronan asks. There’s a touch of nervousness to his words.

“Sure,” Adam says. Some of the tension in Ronan’s shoulders visibly dissolves. Adam sighs. “We should probably go find them.”

Ronan frowns. “Probably.” 

Adam kisses him. Ronan smiles into it and traces the bridge of Adam’s nose, his cheekbone, tucks a too-long piece of hair behind his ear. Adam’s mind is blank.

They’re both quiet. 

“Excelsior,” Adam whispers. Ronan smirks, sharp and handsome, and reaches around Adam to open the door.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ sophelstien !
> 
> also, if you like this fic, reblog it on tumblr! http://sophelstien.tumblr.com/post/176290772137/no-shade-in-the-shadow-of-the-cross-reconquer


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